To Live In Wonderland
by The Unsolvable Riddle
Summary: ...Does everyone live Happily Ever After?... (NEW CHAPTER as of the 30th of June! HarryDraco, and a few other couples, and many more characters.)
1. Primo : Lepus Cavus

Eh…I'm back in angst mode. Everyone we knew and loved from the generation that was the revival of Voldemort are all placed in one hall in the school, that has been totally wiped clean of any memory of those people. Hints at couples, one sided, and confused people who like more than one person. Do the Hogwarts portraits have more to tell than they imply?

If you don't like the thought of same sex couples, be gone! Also features a smart Crabbe and Goyle. If this scares you, that they can actually make intelligent conversation (which scares me too).

The quotes are from David Almond's book, Counting Stars. Go read it. They might not make any sense, but they seem to fit to me. The quotes have a few religious topics, on Christianity. If you might get offended, you might not want to read this. Also references to Alice In Wonderland, by Lewis Carrol. 

All characters mentioned and other stuffs belong to J.K Rowling, and the evils of corporate-ness. Meant to be one-shot, but who knows. 

I hopes you likes it, my precious…

To Live In Wonderland

__

(She started with The Universe. Then she wrote The Galaxy, The Solar System, The Earth, Europe, England, Felling, Our House, The Kitchen, The White Chair With A Hundred Holes Like Stars, then her name, Margaret, and she paused.

"What's in the middle of me?" She asked.

"Your heart," said Mary.

She wrote My Heart.

"In the middle of that?"

"You soul," said Catherine.

She wrote My Soul.

-Counting Stars by David Almond, Chapter One - The Middle of the World)

Harry Potter died at the age of 100. Which is fitting, because he saved the wizarding world many times over. He saw a century pass by, a time of happiness and celebration.

Yet he also saw his friends fly by, none of their lives as long as his, and they all said goodbye to him, one by one.

His raven hair had faded, his emerald eyes no longer precious, and his scar no longer legend. That was when he decided to die. Legends last longer than the hero, but the hero lived more than the legend. He grew frail, weakening every day, until he took his last breath. 

Though many would of thought so, Harry Potter was not a phoenix. He could not be reborn from his own ashes.

Harry Potter died alone. 

-

('You will come upon those who will tell you everything is knowable,' he said. 'Those who will look into the night and say they can tell you the number of the stars. Turn away from them. It is blasphemy for men to feign knowledge of what can be known only to God.') 

-

Draconius Malfoy died at the age of 23. For his Father murdered him when he found out he was going to tell Dumbledore many secrets that would scar the Malfoy name forever, a scar that even many ages couldn't fade. Pride was the strongest emotion he knew. 

Draco Malfoy risked everything. He paid a heavy price for his betrayal.

A simple spell of two words killed a platinum man. Yet people fear these two words like the plague.

Lucius Malfoy killed his own flesh and blood. People say blood is thicker than water. For Lucius Malfoy, Voldemort's blood was thicker than anything.

Draco Malfoy died too early to see the final triumph of Harry Potter.

Perhaps it was better that way.

-

__

(One year one of us, either in mischief or in search of catechismic certainties, was bold enough to raise his hand

'Father, how many stars can I count before it becomes a sin?'

The priest was silent for a moment.) 

-

Ronald Weasley died when he was 77. He just fell asleep one day, and his blue eyes never saw the world again. His red hair had grayed, his blue eyes sometimes lost the sparkle, and his freckles paled.

But Ron never gave up. He saw the world at peace, but knew that war would soon follow. Yet he savored the moment, and only lived in happiness.

Ron accepted that he would always be known because of Harry Potter. He wasn't a legend in his own right.

You could say Ron lived the best life. You could say he lived the worst.

He lived how he wanted to.

-

__

('It is beyond a hundred that the sin begins to deepen, my son. Beyond a hundred and you soul begins to darken. Beyond a hundred and you take your very life into your hands.')

-

Hermione Granger died when she was 89. She lived, and she died. There's no simpler way to put it.

She never was as famous as Harry Potter, or Ronald. She never had her turn in the limelight.

She preferred it that way.

Hermione died with a book on biblical creatures folded across her chest, and she was buried that way.

Why? Harry Potter wanted it. He kissed her forehead, and said goodbye when she was buried. 

-

(**_Ninety_**, one would begin, pointing upward, passing it on to the next in line.. **Ninety-one…ninety-two…ninety-three…**

Our fright was disguised with giggles and curses, but we were truly in fear and trembling if ever the boldest among us began to speak the fateful numbers beyond ninety-nine.)

-

Serverus Snape died when he was 49. He committed suicide under the Imperius curse. 

Can you kill yourself by means of another? A knife straight through his heart, blood tears replacing real ones. Silver metal tainted by crimson.

He lived in fear of being found out. Is living in fear really living at all?

He and Draco lived the most incomplete lives. For one can't live on fear forever.

Some said that was fitting for the backstabbers. These people are now in hiding, in the same position.

Life has its own sense of irony, doesn't it?

-

__

(My finger ticked off the amounts above our small town, leaving untouched the huge expanse of universe beyond. She began to tremble as the numbers mounted.

'Don't,' she whispered.

I held her as she began to pull away. I grinned as I counted more quickly and ran the numbers together in a blur.

'Hundred.' I said at last. 'Hundred and one, hundred and two, hundred and three. See?')

-

Albus Dumbledore died at the ripe old age of 304. 

Why? Some said he was the desendant of Merlin himself. Others say he was only half-mortal, like so many fairy tales say. Was he not unlike Gandalf from the Lord of the Rings, only living to see the final defeat of his enemies?

He survived the age, but died before Ron. He mourned the deaths of Draco and Serverus, and bade the surviving all goodbye two hours before he died.

He knew he was going to die years before.

Is it right, to know when you're going to die? If it's inevitable, does it really matter?

Albus Dumbledore saw the rise and fall of Voldemort, and the rise and decline of Harry Potter. He saw destruction, death and pain for most of his life. 

Yet he knew how to seem happy, to appear joyful. 

When the whole time he was dying inside.

-

Frederick and George Weasley died separately, causing their one heart and mind to rip in two.

George died two years after Fred, out of misery, pining away for the other half of himself that would never come back or be refilled.

He joined his brother when he was 67.

Pain is a strong depressant. When Fred was gone, George's life was one raw emotion until the day he died.

Agony.

-

Virginia Weasley died after years of torturous, haunting dreams from the fragments of memories that remained of Thomas Riddle. Most of the 63 years of her life, she was silent.

Some say she killed herself. Others say she died because she wanted to. Still, some say she was never really alive after the Chamber of Secrets. That her soul had been reaped from her there.

Life was never really the same for Ginny after the Chamber. Naivety is something easily tainted.

-

__

(I saw the stars reflected in her eyes, how they shone among her tears.)

-

All of these people, and many more, have been painted at least once in their lifetime. Obviously, Harry Potter holds the highest number of paintings. A total of around 40 are scattered around the school that feature him, though some are harder to find.

Anyone who wants to be remembered only has to have their picture up at Hogwarts. Quidditch pictures, staff pictures, school pictures and Head Boy, Head Girl and Prefect pictures. Pictures of people who influence the Wizarding world, or saved it. Or maybe both.

- 

A picture of two of the Quidditch team captains, both in their sixth year. Back to back, broomsticks resting on their shoulders. They often grin and tease, or mess up each others' hair. Occasionally they can be spotted far into the photo, chasing a miniscule Snitch. 

One girl swears she saw them in a compromising position, flustered, but then both started to laugh hysterically. One boy says that one day, they were wearing the other's Quidditch robes, and had traded brooms.

Another girl says she saw them rather close, cheeks pink and stumbling over words. Brushing hair back into place with their hands, abashed.

One boy often gives directions for lost first years around the School. The other just smirks and points in a vague direction, while his companion whacks the side of his head and give more precise ones, their painted emotions seeming so real.

No one would recognize these two boys as Harry Potter and Draco Malfoy. They're too youthful, too vibrant. Too full of hope and somehow, innocence. They often laugh at each other, or wrestle. The two never seem to leave their frame during the day. 

Yet the caption underneath reads:

__

"Harry Potter and Draco Malfoy, Quidditch Captains. Photographer Unknown, Circa 1996-97?"

This portrait is far away from the Hall.

-

Memento Hall is almost abandoned, except for the school elves who clean their every so often, and the teachers, and a few students who take advanced classes on the other end of the school. Only the teachers and the selected students pass here regularly.

-

A Weasley family picture has been hung near the doorway, but its rare for all of them to be together. It seemed to of been taken outside of their house, The Burrow. A bench sits near them, and so does a weeping willow. 

Mr and Mrs Weasley both often squeeze each other's hands reassuringly, as if they need a reminder that the pain is over, that nothing can hurt them now. 

Ginny Weasley disappears during the days and the nights, each year her eyes get more shadowed, and fewer and fewer words pass her lips. Whether she pines for Harry or for Tom, she will never say. Perhaps she only wishes for a love that no one showed her.

Fred and George often sit on the bench, fingers entwined, sometimes in the tree, swinging their legs, laughing at an untold joke.

Percy sits by himself, or stands with his parents. He's often seen in the library portraits, discussing something. Yet his eyes betray his words.

Bill and Charlie can only look out to the world of the living and smile sadly, or just gaze out across the Hall. Sometimes they're together, sometimes they're apart. They sometimes climb the tree as well, or can be seen entering the house, but never seem to want to leave the frame.

-

__

(I let her slip her fingers beneath my shoulder-blades.

'Where my wings were,' I said. 'Where they'll be again.')

There's only one picture in this Hall of the Gryffindor trio, Harry, Ron and Hermione. 

Ron's hand rests on Hermione's shoulder, his eyes pained, a forced smile.

Harry stares out, the canvas didn't seem to be able to complete capture his expression, he seems strangely incomplete. His glasses are smaller than they used to be, and not so thick. His eyes are much less readable, even though the emerald glistens in invisible sunlight.

Hermione seems to be on the verge of tears, perhaps for someone lost, as she sometimes whispers to Harry and Ron, but they make no drastic movements around the frame or the canvas.

-

Another picture of the two boys. Professional looking, black suits and solemn expressions. 

Blonde and black hair, both pale skin. Emerald and sapphire eyes. No glasses cover them. Contrasting, yet strangely similar.

They rarely move, rarely face each other. Tears may escape from their eyes in a rare moment, and one's shoulders may shudder to release a sob, or one hand suddenly clutch at another pale one, only resulting in a tense moment, and more silent tears. Streams of silver that will never blur the photo.

Only at night. Daytime, composed, chiseled expressions, forced and plastered on. Never let the world know how you feel. It's a lesson one learns at some point in one's life.

Never speaking, only staring out at the invisible air, watching, waiting.

For what, I, nor can anyone, say.

-

A picture of two large boys, lost expressions, dazed. As if they're not meant to be here.

Vincent Crabbe and Gregory Goyle. 

Murmurs. Low voices, gruff and slightly harsh.

"Why wasn't he with us when they took this picture?"

"I heard he was having that picture taken." Points to the picture, and his companion shakes his head.

"Poor man."

"I used to wonder if it was coming to him. I guess it did."

"Don't say that. He was good, he meant well, deep down in his soul."

"It's true."

"I'll never believe it."

-

The Head and the Heads of Houses.

Dumbledore, Snape, McGonagall, Flitwick, Sprout.

Serverus glares out from narrowed midnight eyes, his face drained, arms crossed.

McGonagall is holding a book, and often talks to Flitwick or Dumbledore, discussing something in solemn tones. She seems to talk to Professor Sprout even more, perhaps because she's the only other woman, or perhaps she knew something. 

Few but Dumbledore talk to Snape, often animatedly, Snape seems to be trying to convice Dumbledore, while the aged man only shakes his head, and closes his eyes.

-

There are very few decendants of these people.

Of course, there are Weasleys, one of Hermione's relatives, and only one Malfoy, who bares an uncanny resemblance to Draco. 

Only one Potter remains, almost the spitting image. Black hair, pale skin, shocking eyes, will need glasses soon. What he is to Harry, his grandson, or something much more distant, few can tell. 

No scar, no lightning gash. He lives like any other, and barely knows of his heritage, how famed his relation was, who he could be.

Is it really better that way? The few who know suppose so. Perhaps one day the boy will be able to live with the truth. Or maybe it will only doom him to follow in his footsteps.

-

__

('If we're like this when we're in God's thoughts,' I said. "What are we like when we're in his dreams?")

-

Only one gold plaque tells of the purpose of this Hall, and only few know of its true purpose;

__

Neither can they die anymore, for they are equal unto the angels.

In memory of all who saw the rise, but maybe not the fall of the Dark Lord Voldemort. For those who proved that blood is not always thicker than water. For those who believed the lives of others were worth more than their own. 

For anyone who ever loved, for those who were denied. For those who saw things that they were never meant to see. For those who lived, loved, and lost. For those who cried, for those who mourn, for those who died, for those who will never see the triumph that we now live in. This is for those who never forgot that Death is inevitable. 

We shall remember you until the end of time. 

For those who wished to live in Wonderland, but could never find the rabbit hole. 

~Finite~


	2. Duo : Perlustro Speculum

Whee! I got an idea for this slight 'continuation' of this fic. I hope you guys like it.

Contains more slashy fun, more angst, and more other random things, including a crying Hermione. If you fear any of these, I suggest you go run away to the mountains. Take my exams with you.

This part just tells about what happened while the pictures were being taken, and some other bits in between. I'm also planning/thinking about doing another part on their deaths. Would anyone like to see that? It'd probably be way more dark. Input would be fun. All the quotes come from Kit's Wilderness, again by David Almond. (Must keep a trend, you see.) Go on, read it. You know you want to…again, they make no sense, but because I'm strange, they do to me. 

Thank you **SO** much to everyone who reviewed, and put this story on their favorites list. I would hug you all, but that might scare you all away. I love you all, really. I was really surprised at how many reviews I got! 

To Forfirith, sure you can use that little part at the end, that flattered me, I'm glad you like it!

This story is slightly lighter, but still has its dark moments. I personally like Harry in this. The end is sort of a starting point for me, for the next part that I'm planning for this.

The Harry Potter series belong to all of the peoples that I'm too lazy to name. References to Alice Through the Looking Glass by Lewis Carrol. 

Behind the Looking Glass

__

(They thought we had disappeared, and they were wrong. They thought we were dead, and they were wrong.

-Kit's Wilderness by David Almond, Part One -Winter) 

The two boys roll their eyes, obviously annoyed.

Perhaps too blatantly so.

Secret smiles, in the depths of their mind, the thrill of touching, as they lean back to back.

Both hold their broomsticks, and smile, one boy's more brilliant, but both reach their eyes, and light up their faces. Robes flutter in the icy breeze, but they don't feel the chill as electricity surges through their bodies.

One leans back, his head resting on the other's shoulder, and he grins at the boy looking down on his with shocked jeweled eyes.

"Liking this, Potter?"

"Or should the question really be, are you?"

The boy falls silent, the grin lessens slightly. Something sparks into his eyes, a rekindled blue and gray fire.

"Leave your strange fantasies out of this, dear." A sickly sweet voice, picking words carefully. His companion tenses, and bites his lip.

A quick hand shoots out, and messes up the boy's platinum hair.

"Ooh, Potter, I'm gonna get you for that one."

Blushes, the shutter still clicks, and both boys laugh uneasily.

He turns to his accuser, who's still trying to perfect his hair, and gives him a sly grin, eyebrows raised, and nudges him with his elbow.

"Alright, you two are dismissed. Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff, please."

"Give you a race, Potter."

Neither know of what horrors can be achieved in a few years time.

-

__

(We stumbled together out of ancient darkness, into the shining valley. The sun glared down on us. The whole world glistened with ice and snow.)

-

Harry Potter stand outside of the Burrow, a Wizarding camera in his hand.

Happy times are now far and few in between, but he hopes that this will be one more precious memory. He smiles uneasily, as the rather large family arrange themselves.

Ron's not here, and that brings a shadow to the boy's face, and it troubles his emerald eyes.

"Alright, Harry, dear, I think you can start. Take a few, incase some don't come out. I want to get them blown up, too." Comes Mrs. Weasley's slightly more aged voice. Mr. Weasley nods in agreement, now almost completely bald.

The twins laugh, and smiled widely, putting their arms around their duplicate's back. No matter how much pain they've seen, they can always bounce back with a smile. Still, their eyes are tired…

Percy smiled slightly, a smile that was only of closed lips. It never reached his hazel eyes, and his hands were clenched at his side. 

Bill and Charlie smiled the kind of smile of someone who has seen many things too horrific to tell of, but still try to smile through life. 

They were doing rather well at it, and smile wholeheartedly.

Ginny only stared out at the camera, her chocolate brown eyes dark and shadowed, as her attempt of a smile failed, and she closes her eyes as the camera flashes and clicks, and winces beneath closed lids. 

She prays not to cry.

-

__

(We held our arms against the light and stared in wonder at each other. We were scorched and blacked from the flames.)

-

"Oh, Ron…" Comes the sob of Hermione, as she stands outside the school, and puts a hand to her mouth, her eyes glistening. "I can't go in there, Ron." Tears start to well in her eyes, and she clutches at Ron, her fingers gripping at his shirt.

"Come on, Hermione. It's for the school," He soothes, and slowly leads the young lady to the heavy wooden doors.

In the room, they meet Harry. He's no longer in an awkward teenage state, and continuing Quidditch has given him a body that's still quite skinny, but hints at hidden strength. He barely administered the two's entering, and Ron looked nervously to Harry, to Hermione, and back to Harry.

"Harry?" The boy turns his head slowly, his quick emerald eyes there before the rest of his face. 

Hermione gasps, her hand rushes back to her mouth. A sob shakes her body, and she clutches at Ron's hand even tighter. 

"I'm so sorry, Harry…" Comes her desperate plea, and a eerie half-smile tweaks the boy's face, and a cold laugh sends chills down their spines.

Harry Potter looks dead, as his head turns to fully face the two people he calls friends. Yet he sees them differently.

His slightly parted blue lips twist into a demented smile, and his eyes are shattered gems - that glint sadistically - as a chuckle escapes from his throat. His snow white face shows little sign of life, and no love for any living thing is left in his soul.

"Sorry?" He hisses, and Hermione's eyes widen. "Sorry? Sorry killed a thousand people, it crushed a thousand more lives. Sorry? Hah. Sorry was never good enough." His voice is low and raspy, and sounds strange on usually such a kind boy.

Hermione fights with her will, her breathing is heavy and disjointed, her caramel eyes are melting. 

"Harry, don't say things like that to her!" Ron suddenly shouts, and Harry's eyes flash brighter.

"Why not? I'm dead, I'm going to die, and there's nothing I, or you, can do about it." He laughs, a deranged, strange laugh, that would of sounded familiar to Ginny Weasley, and even sounded familiar to Harry's ears.

It's the laugh that Riddle laughed down in that Chamber of Despair.

Ron's arm snaps out and slaps Harry hard across the face, and he can only stare in shock at the red blotch that grows on Harry's cheek.

Harry laughs harder, as he sits in the chair, bent over and twisted in some kind of sick torment, but his eyes are still broken. 

He's finding this all very funny.

Someone crams something down his throat, and he swallows, gulping, gasping for air, but laughs still plague his lungs and shake his body. 

The world faded to different shades of gray. 

-

Snape put a hand to Harry's forehead, and nodded, muttering something to himself. 

"Damn boy. Never was right in the head after that Chamber accident." He seemed to be half-talking to the two behind him. 

"Sir… Will he be okay?" Came Ron's careful voice. Snape nodded, as he still towered over the two ex-students of Hog warts - even Ron wasn't as tall as him. 

"Yes. He's become rather delusional these days…daylight hallucinations, I believe the Muggle psychiatrists call them. He didn't take the potion for it in the morning." Snape shook his head, and ran a hand through his charcoal hair. "I'm not sure who he saw in your place. Maybe-" The sentence finished abruptly, but Serverus was saved by the fact that Harry was coming to.

"Let's go get that picture taken."

"Yes, let's. Are you feeling alright, Harry?" Calm voices, soothing and soft. 

Neither will mention that moment of madness ever again.

"I feel like someone's stabbed me through the heart." 

-

__

(There was dried blood on our lips, cuts and bruises on our skin.)

-

These two boys are back, black suits replacing bright Quidditch robes. 

"Potter."

"Malfoy."

It didn't used to be like this. Potter and Malfoy had been exchanged for Harry and Draco. 

Harry approaches the black backdrop, and looks up, closing his eyes. This man is making his heart ache, making his eyes burn.

"'Don't do this to me…" He whispers to some unknown deity, and his face contorts to pain, and he looks down, away, anywhere but the sapphire eyes that are trying to find his soul.

Under the black suit, Draco's arm burns in pain. A permanent scar. One that will never leave his skin, in life or death, that's now branded onto his soul. He's no longer the master of his own fate, or even his own will. A black skull, with an emerald snake with ruby red eyes. 

Another picture, another immortalized memory. Draco's hand finds its way into Harry's, and they fit perfectly. Harry turns away, and Draco begs him with his mind. To come back to him. They'll run away, leave all of this behind them. 

Both know it's not so simple, life isn't one big escapade, one big soap opera. No, he can't go with Draco, no matter how much his mind and body beg him. He can't live like this anymore. He turns to the boy, and just stares with precious eyes, that tell the other so many things at once. He'll wait for the end of time, for the end of reason. Then he'll join him.

Draco can only offer a sad smile, and watches as one gold tear makes a glittering path down Harry's cheek. One pale thumb wipes it away, and stains the nail, and fades away, into his blood. 

Traitor. 

-

Mirrors are curious things. They show only what is there, and nothing more. People may get distorted visions of themselves, but the mirror never lies to them.

Then what is a Looking Glass? Alice fell through one, to end up back in another twisted reality.

What does a Looking Glass show? You in another dimension, another reality? 

Draco often watches his reflection in his Looking Glass. He sees a Draco that is accompanied by a shadowed figure, that snakes its arms around his body, and whispers nothings into his ear. 

These are the only times Draco cries. Silent tears fall from his eyes, silver and black. His body shakes with quiet sobs, with unexplainable emotion. He clenches his fists, and digs his nails into his palms, until tiny crimson droplets appear from the skin, until the pain becomes unbearable, and he cries out in agony. Blood is one of the few signs that he's still alive.

He presses his hands against the clear, cool glass, and watches the Draco inside, envying him with all his soul. 

When he leaves the room, and falls to the ground seconds later, his body still, but his eyes are wide open, and stare into an endless abyss, never to focus and see ever again.

Two blood handprints remain on the Looking Glass. The Draco in Wonderland still remains, and presses his hands in the same spot, and looks out with wide sapphire eyes and blood hands. He mouths words that come out as a whispers, and echo through the Malfoy Manor, out the doors, and to the World, the Universe so that they may know of his, and his counterpart's pain.

__

"If the prophet dies…does the prophecy as well?"

~Finite Incantatem~


	3. Tres : Mortalitas

And so my wrath ensues…mwah. Another part to this, ain't 'cha happy? This is still implied slash, and mucho other couples, and deals mainly with Harry, Draco and Snape. Contains most characters crying, or usually depressed/sad/blah. You no like? SHOO!

Yes. Deathfic here, folks. People die. I'm such a happy person. I quite like Lucius in this. 

I can't explain how grateful I am to everyone who reviewed, or/and put this on their favorites list! You guys rock, I love you all! 

The Harry Potter series doesn't belong to me, it belongs to J.K Rowling, and any other companies which I'm too lazy to name.. More references to Alice in Wonderland/Through the Looking Glass, by Lewis Carrol.

Here's the supposed second to last part to my little Wonderland story. Though I'm very bad at finishing things. Slightly different story set up than last two chapters. The rating also gone up (to a PG-13! GASP!), because it's dark, and because blood, swearing and death are fun. I hope you enjoy this part!

Of Many Things

__

("The Time has come," the Walrus said. "To talk of many things. Of shoes, and ships, and ceiling wax, of cabbages and kings! Of why the sea is boiling hot, and whether pigs have wings.")

"DRACO!"

Shit. He's in for it now. Blood roars in his head, and his hands clumsily shove the owl out of the window. It hoots angrily and pecks at his knuckles, drawing blood. He swears, bites his lip, and watches the gray owl fly, until it's nothing more than a V. He sits down, and waits for his fate.

Silence. The young man doesn't answer, and still sits in the room, legs spread and arms behind him. His hands are flat on the floorboards for support. He watches the door with an intense gaze. He'll come barging in, rage evident in his clear blue eyes. Yes, he can see it now.

So it happens, much like he envisioned it. It's happened before. 

-

__

"Draconius Malfoy. There are Ministry Officials at the door. Perhaps you know why?"

"I've got a faint idea, **Father**." 

"Really? Pray tell."

"Maybe they're here for child abuse. You know, seeing as you've been keeping me in here for what, a few months? Or it's that very dodgy black ivory statue of a basilisk you've got in the living room, you know, the one with the blood red eyes? I've seen Nagini in the basement. Gee, it could be a-"

Slap, moving his whole face to touch his shoulder. A red blotch, and the man standing kneels, and grabs his shoulders. 

"You will never talk to me like that, do you hear? Shut your mouth." 

His hand is still raised, waiting, daring the boy to speak again. Though his eyes rage on, his lips never move. 

-

Draco stares into the mirror, no, the looking glass. A pool filled with alternate realities. Yes. He'd much prefer to step into somewhere that isn't real, that doesn't have consequences. 

He cries out, and slams his fist into the glass, cracking it from the center out. The reflection looks back at him, stunned and broken, slightly warped by the shattered glass. 

When he leaves, and his reflection remains, it cries for him. He wants that sense of reality.

For a world without consequences isn't a world of freedom. 

Blood, the reflection thinks, is a very strange thing to have. Is it just proof of life?

It's the last time he ever sees his original, and so the reflection never changes, the embodiment of a young man. 

-

"What do you accept?"

"My inevitable death."

"What do you wish?"

"To die."

__

It's killing me. Get it fucking over with. Just kill me. No one loves me anymore. It's not worth it.

Yes it is. No, stop, I want my life back. Give it back to me, I want him, it's making me ache. Oh God, he's pointing his wand at me. He's going to go through with this. Please, someone. Why isn't Mother here? My life's a doomed tragedy. Oh God, I'm sorry, Harry, I'm so sorry…I couldn't, wouldn't understand, I'd do anything to make it all different, Harry-

****

"Avada Kedrava."

When lightning fast green magic hits him dead in the heart, he barely feels it, except for one jolt of unbearable pain that shoots through his system, causing him to lash out. The last thing he sees is that shocking, horrible and yet beautiful color. 

Emerald. Harry's eyes were that color. Oh…

"Boy, I'm sorry. He's, it's, just too much. Voldemort…" When Lucius bends down to pick up the body of his fallen son, wiping his silver and gold hair away from his sweaty face. His head twists back strangely in his father's arms, and he dangles, like a helpless marionette, unable to control his inner actions, even though he tries to direct his life…his strings are always there to hold him back. His usually off-white skin is now an ashen color, with green veins. 

Lucius looks up the heavens, and closes his eyes, the deadweight of his son barely even noticeable. He asks for forgiveness, though doubts if he'll receive it. 

When he looks down again, he finds the still open eyes of Draco, open wide in the shock of the pain. He sighs, and closes his eyelids with his thumb, and shuts his slightly opened mouth. He presses his lips to the boy's cold forehead lightly, and walks down the stairs, crimson staining his hands, and leaving a trail of blood behind him.

-

__

The less aged Lucius Malfoy walks into Malfoy Manor, the large wooden doors slamming heavily behind him.

A little boy runs up to him, but stops when he sees the man, his eyes confused. 

Lucius smiles, and bends down to his level, and takes a Chocolate Frog out of his pocket, and offers it to the little platinum boy. They're almost identical, these two.

"Here, take it. It won't hurt you." The boy looks up at him, mistrust in his eyes. 

Neither notice Narcissa wait at the end of the Entrance Hall, her eyes watching every movement.

"No thank you, sir," Comes his hesitant voice. "My mum says not to take sweets from strangers."

Narcissa's hands fly to cover her mouth, as she gasps, and tears somehow spring to her eyes. 

Lucius chuckles, though his eyes show something else. 

"Then your mum is a very good woman. I'm Lucius."

When realization dawns on the boy's face, he smiles brightly, and hugs the still eye-level man, gripping at the material on his shoulders, and buries his head on Lucius' shoulder.

-

Harry Potter, now in his early twenties, is lecturing about Tarot Cards, his speech animated by his hands, as he walks around the classroom. 

Who would of thought he'd end up teaching Divination, following that crazy Trelawny? Though, she did have a few trances when she was training him, that seemed to be very, very real. The woman died of a heart attack a few years ago. He'd been the only qualified person they could find. 

He senses something, it's just a feeling in his bones, a tension in the air. 

He looses grip on the deck of cards, and they fall to the floor the second green lightning pierces another's body.

When he bends down to pick up the cards, his eyes widen when he finds only a few cards are facing up, on the top of the scattered pile, both upside down. Now, Harry, don't turn into Trelawny…

The Hermit, The Tower and The Moon. Of course, just to spite him, he also finds The Lovers visible.

"Professor Potter?" Snaps him back to reality. He looks up, and smiles weakly, before gathering up the rest of the cards. 

The voice didn't come from a student, though. A slightly petrified first year stands at the doorway, his eyes wide. The fifth years in the class laugh, and he silences them with a wave of his hand.

"Um, sir. Professor Dumbledore wants to see you, sir."

The cards aren't always right, but in the Wizarding, and Harry's world, these kinds of things never lie.

-

"Draco Malfoy. What can I say? I hated him with a passion for many years. I'm sad to say I never got the time to really know him, but I often felt as if we had a small bond of understanding. Something that tied us undeniably together. Whenever I was in trouble, he was there to smirk, and we both were very competitive with each other. Quidditch, and when I finally took it seriously, school. House points, clothes, hair, eating. _Everything._

I'm proud, glad to say I knew Draco. He became a warped kind of friend, something I could always count on, something consistent.

I don't why he died, what he had done to deserve this. I'm going to miss you, Draco. God rest your soul."

All of these thoughts came purely from Harry's mind, as they stand in a field miles away from any graveyard. Wild flowers are everywhere, and though the air is motionless, it's thick with unshed tears and mourning. 'They', means quite a large reunion of Hogwarts staff and students. Dumbledore watches with sad, baby blue eyes, contemplating why these things happen. 

Hermione looks out to the hills that surround the field, and shakes her head. It had to end in pain, didn't it? Ron stays expressionless, though he feels for the best friend he's ever known. 

Harry's mind is screaming at him. 

__

You liar! He was more than that! You emotionless…God, why is your voice so calm? You're shattering inside, splinters of your soul. Why can't you cry?

-

When the others have gone, when even Hermione and Ron have deserted him, he walks up to the charmed crystal coffin, that will keep Draco's body in the same state. 

He slides the cover off, and stares at Draco's lifeless body. He takes a limp, ashen hand in his, and clenches it, as if this might bring the boy back to life. 

"Jesus, I'm…"

__

"You're what, Potter? Sorry? Gee, that's going to help."

"Draco, why did you do this to me? Oh God, I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry…" 

__

"Oh, why did **I** do this to **you**? That's a funny question, Potter."

Tears finally spill from his shattered eyes, but no sobs shake his body, and his lip never trembles. 

His liquid pain lands on Draco's closed eyelids, and they slip down his lifeless face, his expression how it used to always be. Blank. This time, Draco cries with tears that are not his own. Silver streams that seem out of place on his dead face.

When Harry Potter slides the crystal lid back on, his eyes are bloodshot, and his face is drained.

Muttering a spell, he levitates the coffin, and slides it into an opening in the white marble statue. 

An angel, a pained look on his face, wings spread wide. His long tunic ends at two sandals. His hands are both open, outstretched, offering freedom, the chance to fly away. It bears a small resemblance to Draco, with the same, now loose, medium length hairstyle and thoughtful, sad eyes. 

He locks the tomb, and walks away, always looking back every five or six steps. 

The final steps towards the portal that will lead him out of this quiet paradise. 

He turns, and a light breeze picks up, which sends his hair into more of a mess, and sparks his eyes alight. When his lips move, the words are carried away by the breeze, and float around the field, and are never heard.

"Goodbye, Draco."

-

Something nags at his mind, one day. It starts off as a small impulse to do something random. 

He finally understood what was happening to him after a week of that strange feeling, a small nagging at the back of his mind. 

The Dark Lord was coming for him, he was testing his will. 

Serverus closed his eyes, and slumped into a chair.

He could already feel Death creeping towards him, ice sliding down his back.

-

"Why are you here? It's bad enough that you're my reason of suicide. Couldn't get one of your thick minions to finish me off?"

__

"I came to see you die, Serverus. Because you've cost me a great many things. I feel your death should be of my device."

"Bloody bastard."

__

"Hah, I should think not. Do you like knives, Serverus…?"

"You…wouldn't…"

His words betray him as he reaches for the knife, but his fingers twitch, as he tries to regain control. His ebony eyes are wide, unfocused as the try to fight of the pain, the control, the twisting of his fingers, the smalls cracks from his knuckles. 

He still fights, even when the knife is poised above him, and a diagonal jab would send it straight through his heart. 

__

"So, Serverus…any last words?"

This voice is almost as low as it had once been, with still hints of higher pitches, because this man now before him was almost fully formed, deep red eyes that could have been pools of blood. 

The Dark Lord isn't surprised when Serverus smirks, and the knife hovers about his chest. He is, surprised, however, when he lets out a low chuckle. His tired head lifts to stare his former Master in his serpent eyes.

"What did he do to you, Tom?"

Slash. Right where he heart was supposed to be, a thin but long gash, that traces diagonally down his chest. It cuts through his robes, and invisibly stains the black robes with darker blood. Serverus coughs lightly, but never winces.

__

"You will never speak of him like that, you worthless excuse for a man."

"Me, an excuse for a man? You've become quite the hypocrite, Tom."

Another. X marks the spot. The two lines cross at the exact resting place, that if you cut away the skin and bone, would lead to his heart. 

__

"You hid from me for a very long time, Serverus. At Hogwarts, with that fool Dumbledore. Now, I've got you in your own house, the famed Snape estate," he gestures with long, spindly arms. _"I dare say I shall quite enjoy killing you."_

The twisted remains of human that stands before him doesn't need a wand to do magic anymore.

With a wave of his hand, the knife, now back in it's original position above his victim's chest, inches forward, as he leaves Serverus a few moments to contemplate his death. 

Nothing separates the silence of Serverus' death and his last words with Voldemort. No witty phrase, no last words that will haunt the Dark Lord forever.

When the knife plunged into his skin, and then followed through to his heart, he felt himself gag, and tried to find a way to get air into his lungs. When he felt that familiar metallic taste in his mouth, he knew it was too late. Nothing could save him now.

He only started to feel the pain a few seconds later.

It shot through him like electricity, though his body still didn't respond. 

Involuntary tears ran down his face, and they slowly were tainted by blood, until all of his tears were a scarlet color, and his eyes blinded by red. 

When Serverus takes his last staggered breath, and falls to his knees, then to the floor, he's lying in his own blood. It's all around him, crimson, red, scarlet, it's all he can see, the world is shades of red. His lying on the floor only edges the knife in further, to finally pierce his entire heart.

Voldemort's cold, high laugh echoes through the house, as he leans down, rolls the limp body over, and takes out the knife, still hot with blood. He seems to contemplate whether or not to take it, as he runs his finger down it, collecting blood on his white finger. The knife pricks his finger, though he shows no sign of responding to the small cut, as dark blue blood seeps from it, and trickles down his finger. When a smirk passes his thin, blue lips and he rests the knife in Serverus' hand, and it's easy to tell what he's trying to do. He wipes his stained hands casually on his robe.

Yes. He'll frame him, say he committed suicide.

Did he? Voldemort ponders this for a moment. Yes, he'll have to think about that later.

With nothing more than a slight wisp of magic, he Apparates out of the house, leaving a dead man on the floor in a pool of crimson, with a blood stained knife in his hand, and blood running down his face from haunting red eyes. 

-

The woman Auror shrieks when she enters the kitchen, causing two men to come running. They stop short, and gape at the scene with horrified eyes. The man on her left speaks to an invisible microphone.

"Get a channel over to Dumbledore. Tell him he's dead."

Soon, Dumbledore knows of the news. He slumps down into his chair, and holds his head in his hands, wanting, needing to know how much longer this suffering will go on. 

-

Harry walks down the street, and soon spots the Leaky Cauldron, it suddenly snaps into vision. A small smile plays on his lips, as all of the Muggles near him pass it, but soon look into the window of the clothing shop next to it. 

A little girl, with short, light blonde hair in pigtails looks directly at it with wide blue eyes, her mother having stopped to chat with another woman, but still holding her child's hand. She watches the strangely dressed people walk into it, and others come out. The girl then looks up to Harry, the corners of her mouth forming a small smile, before looking back to the Cauldron, until her gaze returns to him. 

Harry grins back, and winks at the girl. She giggles, and waves to him as he walks towards the wizarding pub. He waves back, and opens the door, disappearing into warmth.

-

Harry Potter sits in a wheelchair, as the nurse chatters absent-mindedly to him. She's pushing him down a long corridor, her heels clicking loudly. He's in a Muggle nursing-home, it's just been his 100th birthday. 

It's funny, because no one here knows how important he once was. How the scar, that is now just a faint white hint of a lightning bolt, was once always open, a crimson gash. He chuckles to himself, but the nurse takes no notice, still absent-mindedly chatting away. 

His emerald eyes are now slightly dimmed, but still sharp, and all-seeing. His once jet-black hair is now gray, and his frail fingers toy with his glasses, now thick-framed again, like they were when he was young. 

He feels something tug at his navel, like a Portkey. No, he sighs happily, but it's not a Portkey. Well, maybe it is, in once sense.

This Portkey will take him away for ever.

"Ivy…?" He calls to the nurse softly. She stops the wheelchair, and bends down, eye-level with the old man who know, somehow, still silently demands respect. 

"Will…you, say goodbye, to the others for me? I think I'm about to go."

The nurse, with short black hair and chocolate brown eyes smiles sadly. She understands him perfectly. Yes, she's seen this before. Her mother even told her. Many people can feel that they're going to die. She used to think this must be horrible, but when she sees the serene look on Harry's face, this changes her perspective on death. 

One, last, shaky breath comes from his lungs, and he stops living. 

In this world, anyway. 

Ivy rubs at her eyes, and kisses the old man's cheek. She turns the wheelchair around, humming Queen's Bohemian Rhapsody.

-

He's in a white void, and everything is silent. He walks to where the light seems the brightest, and sits down, trying to figure out where he is. He feels younger, as if a giant weight has been lifted off his chest, his shoulders.

A mirror appears before him. He doesn't see his reflection, he gets up and walks closer…

Wait!

Ron and Hermione are there, waving, grinning like mad, they look so young, maybe fifteen at the most. Sirius' eyes light up when he sees his godson, and so many other people are there…Remus walks up to Sirius, looks at him, before he sees Harry, and he shouts something unheard. Dumbledore just smiles, and pops a lemon drop into his mouth, chewing on it thoughtfully. Even Snape is there, he leans down to whisper something to a blonde boy who's hair obscures his face. The boy looks up, and raises an eyebrow.

Draco! He's leaning against an invisible wall, smirking, but his eyes are laughing. He finally changes position, and then walks up to the boundary of the mirror. He offers a hand to Harry, which slides out of the mirror, making it ripple.

'Come with us.' He mouths, but the words don't make it through the glass.

The Looking Glass.

Abandoning reason, Harry grabs the pale hand, and lets what he hopes, prays to be Draco guide him into this paradise, this heaven of sorts. He doesn't care if this is just Hell in disguise, or a torturous dream. If it is, he hopes he never wakes up. 

He walks through the mirror, which feels like ice-cold water. That fades to a comfortable warmth.

Draco hugs him, and kisses him quickly. It feels wonderful, like a craving he's had to control for so long. When he's just about to return the affection, Ron and Hermione attack him, and Hermione clings to his neck, chattering about how much they've missed him, how long they've waited for him. 

Snape walks up, and shakes his hand.

"Took a bloody long time, Mr. Potter. Glad you could make it."

After all of the commotion, hugging and talking, his hand slips smoothly into Draco's, who suddenly squeezes it tightly, before drawing the boy into another hug, which follows with a light kiss that tastes of peppermint. 

Harry smiles against the pressure of the other's lips, while Draco whispers;

__

"You've found your way to Wonderland."

__


End file.
